Toy Soldiers
by revolution rae
Summary: Monsters. Devils. The Death Eaters were called many things. They were still human. Above all else, they were soldiers. Glimpse their lives through anonymous letters written years after the End.
1. Only Human

******Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I don't own any characters, places, objects, or ideas associated with Harry Potter. **

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_Dear Curious,_

My answer to you is _yes_. If there were some way I could change my life, I would. I'd rather have been born to a different family. A family in which blood meant nothing and character meant everything - the Weasleys, for example. They've no idea how lucky they are, despite their poverty, despite their quirks. For the Weasleys, unlike my family, truly care for each other. They do not associate out of duty or necessity, but out of love and devotion. Yes, the Weasleys are both fortunate and good, and I was foolish to have not seen it long ago.

Yet, can I really be blamed for my blindness? It is, after all, how I was raised. _Hate Muggles. Hate Mudbloods. Hate blood traitors_. You cannot choose your family - I could not even choose my friends. Therefore, it is wrong, perhaps even cruel, to blame me for my parents. I can no more help my name or lifestyle than I can help my genetic traits. Perhaps, though, I could have changed my personality; I've seen enough by now to know I was wrong in the path I chose.

Yes, I chose my path. I chose to be friends with the wrong people, I chose to hate Mudbloods and blood traitors and Muggles and Albus Dumbledore. I chose to swear myself into the Dark Lord's service, and long before that, to become a bully, the forerunner of a Death Eater. And I paid the price for it. I had no friends, only sidekicks and followers; I had no love, only hatred. Worst of all, I had no courage, I had weakness in the form of a tattoo on my arm. That is the most shameful thing I could ever have, and it is the reason for my long-sleeved robes and my isolation. I choose to stay away from other witches and wizards in order to hide my past.

The looks I get when I _do_ venture into society are enough to drive any man or woman to insanity. I am so recognizable, so obviously a sinner. My face alone is enough to send some into hysterics; I have been attacked, beaten, thrown onto the street from a bar. And of course I know I deserve any pain I receive. I did, after all, cause so many others agony. My life is a hell, and I take comfort in that fact.

Now you must think I am truly insane, and perhaps I am. But I do take comfort in my destruction, as surely as a child is delighted by candy. Nothing you say will change that fact, and I see no reason to hide it. I am simply being treated as I once treated others, back in the old days. And honestly, that's how it is for all of us, in the end. I shall die a murderer and an outcast, just as Albus Dumbledore died a benevolent curiosity, the only one who believed a boy's true tale. Yes, Dumbledore died far from how he should have, but at least he's gone.

It is pathetic, even I admit, that I cannot let go of my hatred so long after the fact. My hatred of both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. One saved me by destroying me; the other destroyed me by saving me. How ironic that, by allowing me to attempt his assassination, Dumbledore lengthened my life. Then, the Dark Lord rescued his supporters from Azkaban until we were killed or, in my case, defeated, reprimanded, spanked like naughty little children. I should have been one of those lying on the blood-stained corridor floors of Hogwarts, but instead, I survived and was officially pardoned. What did I do to deserve such a punishment? Why, I committed the crime, of course!

I find it interesting, though, that so many of those who assisted Harry Potter agreed with the Dark Lord at some point. So many lied their way out Azkaban, and so many others merely hid their love of the Dark Lord's ways long enough that he was destroyed and they could pretend they'd hated him from the beginning. Too many sinners walk more freely than I. And far too many innocents are caught in cages. Metaphorical ones, of course, but cages all the same. For example, the former members of the Order of the Phoenix. By publicizing their involvement in the initial war on the Dark Lord, they ensured their public appearances will be received as excitedly as mine. Admittedly, theirs are probably more welcome. Still, I cannot say they have an easier time of it than I do.

My, but I'm becoming self-absorbed, aren't I? Of course, this is a letter about my life, but the fact of the matter is I'm becoming self-pitying. I haven't earned such a right. Then again, neither has Harry Potter, and he's always been quite the complainer. Am I sounding too bitter? I'm not trying to. My point is that the wizarding world's selfless hero, whatever his hardships were, has had a decent life, better than many people have. He had friends and food, though not til he was of school age. He has a family, children, a comfortable paycheck, many things I do not. No, my sympathies lie with the others who fought, from either side. All the unnamed warriors who fought for what they believed in, whether that was equality or power. I pity those who survived to become heroes and monsters, angels and devils, winners and losers. They are the ones who were brave enough to stick with their ideals, no matter the admiration or condescension pouring in from all sides. As someone who was felt both, I can say they are equally exhausting. We all make mistakes, causing either approval or anger, and we cannot help which we receive. I fall into the category of anger, because I allowed my decisions to be made for me. But still I am a person, with likes, dislikes, regrets, and - ultimately - the ability to do both right and wrong.

Now I've spent far too long writing a response to a simple question. "Do you regret what you did so long ago? Do you think it was your family, or would you have done it anyway?" Forgive me. Indulge me. I'm an old loner with few friends who misses the old social scene. I like to share my stories as much as the next elder. Why wouldn't I? I'm only human.

_- Spokesman_

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**an. edited 12.14.10.**

**an. **re-edited 01.22.12, because i'm a perfectionist. and also, because this fic is ending in the near future (probably) and i want it to be the best it can be. (refer back to the "perfectionist" comment for the reason why.)


	2. Reliving the Past

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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_Old Friend,_

It's been a long time since we talked, hasn't it? Yeah, I think we last talked before the End. Meaning when I joined up, of course. I thought one thing, you thought another, and it's as simple as that. But at least we didn't end up killing each other, hey? Though that's the kind of thing I'd say, not you. You'd probably say something like 'you could have changed.' But that's just the thing, isn't it? We're so different we probably shouldn't have been friends to start with. I did what I thought was right, and you thought I was wrong. I was in a Circle, you were in an Order. And we lost touch.

But you know all that already. I'm just reliving the past. Now that the End of the End is over (meaning the Final Battle), we can be friends again.

Haha. Yeah right. I wish. I miss being friends. But now that we've picked our sides, we can't go back. Even though the war is over. Do you remember when we were at Hogwarts together? We were Ravenclaws. Of course, you knew that already. But I can't help it, you know me. I like to talk about the past. It's why bloody first years always hated me. No one ever wanted me to tutor them, not the way they'd want you to.

Do you remember how we won the Quidditch Cup in our 5th year? Normally Slytherin and Gryffindor were back and forth as the winners. But we showed 'em all, hey? And then the time we tried to prank Professor McGonagall and she caught us Transfiguring all her books? Guess we should've known better to try and use Transfiguration on her. We were so normal, though.

Funny, isn't it? Back in the old days we never called the teachers 'Professor.' I don't remember why. Now that we've graduated and fought a war and decided who to hate, we call them the respectful names. Maybe it's because we do respect them more, though. Back then they just gave out useless bits of knowledge and a lot of detentions. Now I've seen them in action as witches and wizards. I've seen them fight for what they believed in, just like me. So different from the old days, my friend. We used to mess with them all the time. We could of given Potter and Black a run for their money, if we were Gryffindors and gave away everything we did. We were just smarter than them, we actually covered our tracks.

I wonder, though, if your last words are true. _I hate you!_ Do you really? Could a differing opinion change years of friendship? No, but a Death Eater could. There. I've said the words. Death Eater. That's what I was. What I am. I still haven't renounced the old views, despite our downfall. No, I don't think the Dark Lord will ever rise again. I'm glad. I hated him. But I needed his leadership. He was cruel, but he was efficient. And I still believe it, that Purebloods are best. We have to be; it's all I have to be good at. It's all I have going for me. If I believed that I wasn't better for my blood, I'd be dead by now. I'd have nothing left. I'd've given up ages ago. You know that. You know what I was like. What I am like. But like I said, you know all that. I'm just reliving the past.

You know, even if I could go back, I don't think I would. I'd make the same choices over again. I'd never give up. I'd never go to the Order of the Phoenix, I'd never help Harry Potter. I did what I did and I'd do it again. I believe everything I did was right and I was on the 'good' side.

Maybe that's the thing, friend. Maybe there _isn't_ a good or bad side. After all, everyone who does anything worth mentioning thinks they're doing the right thing. Knows they're doing the right thing. When two such people think two different things, which side is the good one? Whichever one you agree with, surely. So how do you know which one's the truth? By whatever, I don't know, Dumbledore says? Or whatever the Dark Lord says? Or in a less extreme case, between Professor McGonagall and Professor Sinistra? Merlin knows they disagree all the time, though I hear that it's Professor Trelawney she can't stand now. Word travels pretty far, hey? Here I am, definitely out of the loop, and even I know what the old teachers are up to.

Future, present, past. Where will I be in the future? I'm scared, old friend. Everything I've done, right or wrong, will catch up with me eventually, even if I'm safe for now. Will I be sent to Azkaban, or perhaps executed? I don't know and that's what scares me.

Right now, I'm a lonely outcast with no friends, not even my old comrades; they're all too frightened to be seen near an old Death Eater. They've all got tattoos as real as mine, I don't see why they're ashamed of it. Even if they really have changed, shouldn't they be proud that they're different? I can understand not spouting about it, but going to the lengths they do just to keep it hidden...they're as good as announcing their past. Stopping to talk to me once in a while wouldn't change anything they've done.

And oh, the past! The glory days, when I was doing something worthwhile, changing the world! We were like soldiers, you know. We were fools, of course, but we were doing something right, for once. Many of us joined up for a family. Those that joined for nothing but the glory were killed sooner rather than later; those that were utterly loyal got thrown into Azkaban. The ones like me, who were loyal, lonely, and wanted glory, we were kept around but never trusted. So different from Hogwarts. Where did I go wrong? I've heard people ask it. I was popular, talented, and I had it all, even money. And I had you, the best friend anyone could ask for. But you already know all that. I'm just reliving the past.

_Another Lonely Soldier_

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A/N: Edited: 12/14/10


	3. Good Enough

**Disclaimer: JKR's.**

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Daddy,

Have I finally made you proud of me? I feel like such a fool, asking you that. After all these years, I still crave your attention so badly. The irony of it is no matter what I did, it was never enough for you. I did well in school, but I should have done better. I was a prefect, I should have been Head Girl. I had a job in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes - which wasn't easy to land, by the way - but I should have been Head of department.

Oh, but then! Then I hit upon the best thing. I became a Death Eater! Then you had no complaints, for a while at least. For nearly an entire year you went on about how I was finally living up to my brothers, how maybe I wouldn't turn out to be a good-for-nothing like 'that one,' now the baby of the family was growing up! I was so happy, Father. I felt good enough at last!

And then it was over. I wasn't good enough anymore. I wasn't in the Dark Lord's inner circle, so I wasn't worth your time. Except when you were complaining about my faults. How disgusting I was, how pathetic. How I didn't deserve our name. I was heartbroken, Father. I'd thought you'd finally accepted me, but I was wrong. Once you got tired of me, I was worthless again, not to mention stuck fighting for something I didn't believe in, a cause I disagreed with completely. And I couldn't get out, for fear of murder. You don't just walk up to the Dark Lord and say, "hey boss, I changed my mind, I want to be in with Dumbledore now, nice seeing you!" And even if I could have, I wouldn't, because I didn't want to disappoint you even more. I still thought I could win your approval.

Then I thought of a way to make you happy with me again! I'd get married to a nice, respectable, pureblood. Someone you liked. It meant leaving the man I loved, but so be it; I wanted to be approved of so badly I'd do anything, even marry a cruel man twice my age. How pathetic. But I was never as strong as _her_. I was afraid. But then, she'd always been loved. She never had to worry about being insulted or abandoned or torn down. She was your favorite, but she didn't care. She ran away with my only real friend. So I got married to a hateful man and spent the next two years of my life answering his every need, his every want. And getting beaten up for it. I'm not the only pureblood girl who had to deal with a marriage like that. A lot of us did. We just were too proud to say anything. But I won't lie now. I was ready to just off myself, call it quits, I was going to do it. Then I got lucky and he was killed last year. It was utterly blissful. No more bruises to heal and hide! No more slave work! And then… the Dark Lord was defeated by Harry Potter and his wonderful, heroic, admirable friends.

They may be nearly ten years younger than me, but they're my heroes. You'll be so disappointed in me, _Daddy_. But I'm tired of it all, of trying to make you love me like you loved her. I've had enough time here in Azkaban to realize that you were always wrong. Since the dementors are only guarding high-security prisoners now, and I'm not high-security (thanks to my trial, but more to my money), I didn't have to worry about them. I had plenty of time to think, to reflect on old memories. To see how weak I'd been in the past. So I made some decisions. I'm through with you and Mum and all your pureblood friends and your family and everyone else I ever knew, ever rubbed shoulders with. This is the last you'll hear from me. Cut me out of the will. Burn me off our family tapestry, like my cruel old great-aunt did her son. Forget I exist.

So if I'm complaining a lot, now you know why. You deserve everything and anything nasty you get, including my ranting and any you hear from _her_. You're all filthy whiny hypocrites without hearts! You especially. You brought everyone around you down so you could feel good. You destroyed my every hope and dream and made me think everything was my fault. I pity the fools who admire you and my brothers. I may be the one with a mark on my skin, but you're the one who deserves it, you wanted it! I _never_ thought purebloods were better! I never agreed with the Dark Lord! I was trying to please you, and I lost two years of my life for it. Three, if you count the one I spent in Azkaban. In fact, I spent my whole life trying to please you, and what did I get for it? A tattoo that may as well be on my forehead and a lifelong guarantee of angry stares when I'm in public! My life of torture came down to nothing. I get those stares wherever I go; I can't find any good jobs; I'm lonely; I'm nearly 28 years old, and I'm all alone in the world. My own sister owled me to tell me she was wrong about me before and I'm just like you. All those years she protected me…but then she left, left me with you, and I never quite filled her shoes, did I. I never quite made it. I was never quite good enough, was I, Daddy. So you don't get to have my signature, just like you can't have my life or my thoughts anymore. Because you know what? You're not good enough.

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**A/N: Edited: 12/14/10**


	4. How I Wish

**Disclaimer**: If it was mine, Ron wouldn't have married Hermione... Snape would have gotten Lily... the Death Eaters would have a separate series of their own... and... well, it probably would be about either Draco, Snape, or Voldy, not Harry:p

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My dearest,

How I wish I'd done things differently. How I wish I could have saved you. How I wish I could turn back time and rescue you from the clutches of insanity. My darling, I made horrid choices and dragged you along with me. I wish more than anything that I could ask you for your forgiveness, but I know I cannot. The last time I tried to visit you at St. Mungo's, you started screaming incoherently at the top of your lungs, snatched a wand from a passing witch, and nearly destroyed the hospital. So even if I could send you more than an anonymous letter, I doubt that I would. As it is, you may not read this at all, now that you know of my visit.

But do not fear, my love. This is my last letter to you. This is the last any shall hear from me, for it is both a love letter and a suicide note. Do not be distressed; it is truly for the better. Every remaining Death Eater (other, of course, than those in your position) is a blemish on the world, a stain of dishonor. I am not the first to realize the truth, nor shall I be the last. But oh, how I wish there were another way! For I do not really want to die. I want to survive as long as I possibly can. My body itself screams at me, pleading to the more basic part of my mind, the part that tells me, _this is wrong, you should atone for your sins by living in torture_, and I already am close to listening. Perhaps I write this in part to prolong my final breath. None of us really know what our subconscious wants. I know I certainly didn't. My more obvious desire was to have glory by restoring the wizarding world to its rightful place, to be a soldier to the reigning king. But apparently, I secretly wanted to be on the side of "good" as the majority of people know it. Even I did not realize this, my dove, until after our lord was defeated. Some may call this wishful thinking, but I am sure of its honesty.

If truth be told, I don't want to live now, though. I want to relive my life and fix it. I messed up so often, my beauty. All those poor Muggles, half-bloods, and Mudbloods I tortured and killed… I see now that I was wrong, and oh how I wish I'd known that then! My dear, I was a fool, and I surely am one still. I know that the only way to rectify this, to right my wrongs, is to die for them. Would that they still had the death penalty! As they don't, I'll have to administer it myself. It can only help, you know. After all, I murdered so many, and broke so many others. Every night, I dream of the bloody corpses at the Final Battle or the tiny bodies of the children - innocent children! - that I killed. How I wish I could put them back together, give them back their lives and the time they never had. I spilled so much blood, more than many of the other Death Eaters. With every stilled heart, my own heart beat harder, faster, trying to blot out the pain. But here is a secret - my nightmares began long before the Final Battle. They began even before the Dark Lord's initial fall. I haven't had a peaceful night's sleep in so many years. I'm sure if you remembered the nights you comforted me after I would wake up screaming, you would understand. But you have forgotten all that. Haven't you? Perhaps you have just locked the bad memories away, my only. You _did_ scream when you saw me. Maybe you really do remember all the terrible things I convinced you to do. Have you forgotten the wonderful times we had? There were so few of them later on… I'm sure you've forgotten why you fell in love with me to start with. Do you still remember all the love we once had? Or have you retreated so deep within yourself and your fear of truth that you hate and blame everyone but yourself?

I apologize. I grow angry sometimes. I sometimes feel you abandoned me when I needed you most. But perhaps, my pearl, it was I who abandoned you. Are your nightmares about me? Do you wake up screaming, in need of healing or even just comfort, because of all the fights we had? Useless questions. I will never know the answers. I will never see you again. I will never hold you again. I will never speak to you again. And it is better that way, though I spend entire days dreaming and wishing for you and the old days. I know that it is wrong, that I drove you to the brink of death, the edge of insanity, and pushed you over. It is a miracle you survived, but less of a miracle that you lost your mind. Isn't it? Is your insanity a blessing in the end, protecting you from the knowledge of your own flaws, of your own mistakes and murders? Am I stupid for asking such questions in a letter you may never read, let alone answer? Of course you will not answer. You don't really know who's writing.

I have wasted so much valuable time writing, my jewel. My breath is a waste of air. My thoughts are a waste of… of anything. Of everything. This letter is a waste of both parchment and ink. You won't read it, I'm sure, and you won't understand it if you do. And even if you do, by some small chance, you won't respond or even care.

So good-bye, my love. I'll always love you, even in death. How I wish I want to say, 'Never forget me,' but I know it's better if you do.

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**A/N: edited 1/14/11**.


	5. Don't Deny It

**Disclaimer: **It isn't mine, unfortuantely.

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Brother,

It's been a long time since I've seen you. Now that you're in Azkaban for good. And I'm not. Kind of a shame, since I don't have any reason to be out and you've got things to do still. Don't deny it. You know you haven't finished everything the Dark Lord wanted you to. You know you have to. He's coming back again, pal. Harry Potter's barely of age and he sure as hell isn't gonna stop our master. He didn't the last time, that was a fluke, and he won't this time. I would bet my life on it. As though that were worth much. Y'know?

I wonder why they chucked you in and left me out. I mean, your spells for disguising yourself were as strong as mine, weren't they? You didn't _want_ to get caught, did you? Cause that would be a disgrace on our family's name. I'd stop writing to you. In your last letter you said you had secrets, big ones. Are those secrets about how you turned yourself in? You never were very tough. No offense, but you, my friend, bent with the wind, turned with the tide. You wanted to be on the winning side but in the end you weren't. Were you hoping to win favor by pretending to be Imperiused or blackmailed into it? Cause I'd have to kill you then. I don't want to but I won't shy away from it. You ought to know that by now. Haven't I proved myself to you, to anyone, time and again? Whereas you barely could bring yourself to utter the curse when a filthy little Muggle brat ran up to you on the street and kicked you. Thank God I was there to help you out. Otherwise _he_ might've killed you. Can't say I was too far from it myself.

Now, don't take that the wrong way. You always were sensitive, but maybe Azkaban's toughened you up a bit. Hope so. Dad would be proud, wouldn't he? Admit it, kid, you know you wanted him to like you the way he always liked me. He was proud of me always, y'know, liked me a damn sight better than you. Understandably; he was always an extremist just like the Dark Lord. Just like me. Too bad you couldn't bring yourself to at least beat up a few Hufflepuffs once you got to Hogwarts. Dad would've forgiven you for being a coward maybe then. But nope, you had to follow in Mum's footsteps, all high and mighty, weren't you? But I convinced you to see the light. If you want to put it lightly. Very lightly. Sorry about that scars, by the way... but it was for a good cause, and you know it.

You _do_ know it's for a good cause, don't you? You understand that I was doing the right thing? That we both were, once I got you to join up too? You know that your pain was just your first sacrifice to the Dark Lord even back then, before you knew you'd be his soldier someday? You get the concept, right? That the only way to become a man is to feel the pain needed? It was hardly worthy of Him, but it was alright for an 11-year-old. I suppose. But honestly, did you have to cry so much? For the love of Merlin, you got me a month's detentions! _And_ 50 points from Slytherin. Stupid McGonagall. Of course, it didn't matter in the end; Umbridge eventually got her beaten up a few years ago. The old hag got Stunned by four wizards simultaneously! I wish I'd been there. I'd have given her something to cry about. That bitch had no reason to hate me and she still did. I always wanted to get her back for that.

And at least I was rewarded rather than punished when I gave you the Dark Mark. You were a big baby about that too, remember? Nearly wet yourself. That was pathetic. Don't hold that against me, you know it as well as I do. We all went through it too. You're the one who was cried. I was there along with all the other new Death Eaters. Not to mention how you threatened to report me to Azkaban. Stupid really, they'd've seen your brand-new Mark and sent you to Azkaban right away. Of course, once you realized we were all laughing, you ran off vowing revenge. You're a drama queen, you know that? Always complaining about something, be it the Dark Mark, the Dark Lord's orders, or a few laughing people. You're worthy of our mum now, she was always yelling at Dad cause he killed Muggles and tortured half-bloods. The idiot didn't know how lucky she was, she was practically a blood traitor herself, didn't even realize how many times Dad saved her neck. Course, he killed her in the end, so it doesn't really matter, now, does it? You were a baby then, too. Bawling your eyes out like a little girl, you were nearly 30, it was embarrassing, so the old hag croaked, what of it? She hated me anyway, and she didn't like you _that_ much, just more than me or Dad. That wasn't too hard for her. Nope, you shouldn't've been such a crybaby. But you always were. Don't deny it.

Well, brother, I suppose that's all I should say, now that I'm reasonably sure you turned yourself in to the 'good guys' since I've wrote down all the reasons for it. You were always a crybaby; you never stuck to one side; you were a mama's boy. All the evidence points to you being a traitor. You never liked the Dark Lord much anyway. You stupid idiot, I should've known from the start. I should come get you out of there just to kill you. Because I'm absolutely sure. It makes sense, you know. Don't deny it.

I hate you.

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**A/N: edited 1/14/11. **


	6. Tell

**Disclaimer: **Eet ees not mine.

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Mr. Potter,

Let me tell you now, I know you probably won't read this letter anytime in your life, unless you want to boost your job as an Auror. It's been 21 years to the day since you defeated my master and savior. 21 years exactly since my own life ended, so to speak. I got out of Azkaban and back home a mere two hours ago. If, that is, you can still even _call_ it a home. My husband's disappeared. My daughter's grown and gone without a mention of where she is. Everything's dusty and moth-eaten and trashed by those cruel children of 'heroes.' Yes, that's my home now.

But of course, that isn't why I'm bothering the witches and wizards employed to read your... _fan mail._ I'm writing in order to give you four things: an excuse, an explanation, a lecture, and a warning.

The excuse, I'm telling you honestly, isn't one that anyone could really understand unless they've been in the same position as me, lived the same life. I'm not the type that pretends to have been Imperiused by a loyal follower. I don't lie, or else I wouldn't have lost 21 years of my life. I wasn't blackmailed by anyone. I'm not mad. Well, no more mad than the next person. Even going to Azkaban didn't destroy my sanity. My excuse is as simple and as honest as any can be: I was a soldier with a tattoo to ensure loyalty, a family to fight for, and a glorified vision of the future! I was in a war. It was exhilarating and terrifying. You ought to understand _that_, at the very least; you knew soldiers, too. Plus, it was my revenge on all Muggles. Which, of course, leads me to my explanation.

This one isn't so simple. I suppose on the surface, it seems even simpler than my excuse. But in reality, it is more complicated than anything you could possibly imagine. It burns in my existence, a memory I want nothing more than to erase or at least forget. I've never told a soul of this before. I tell you now because I feel an unreasonable obligation to explain and make myself understood, though you don't even - won't ever - know my name. But I need to stop delaying. When I was 14 years old, overconfident and carefree, I was walking down a Muggle street in my naïveté and innocence. I didn't have a care in the world, at that point. But then something happened to change my life forever. A Muggle man came up behind me. I was raped, beaten, and left for dead by him. And me a pureblood child from a respectable family, though at the time the pureblood part was unimportant to me.

But what a relief to write the words, a relief but also torture...joy and rage, freedom and fear, a war within me - restart my letter, or just leave it as it is? Of course I will leave it. It is my only explanation for the deeds of my life. From that day on, I hated Muggles, all Muggles, and any spawn of theirs. Thank God it was a pureblood who found me that day, lying there naked in an alleyway, broken inside and out. I may have tried to kill a Muggle, and I wasn't so coldblooded than as I am now. I may have grown to hate myself. As it was, I certainly left my bruises on that poor soul who rescued me. Not to mention going mad for a time, refusing to eat or drink, attacking any who came too near, screaming if a man was in the same room as me. My own brother couldn't come near me, and he'd always been my best friend and protector! I hurt him.

But ever since that summer, I've longed for vengeance. It started out with small, insignificant trifles... when September rolled around with the Hogwarts Express, I bullied any student related, however distantly, to a Muggle or even a Squib. After all, 'Magic is Might' and those without it are beasts, filthy animals, uncivilized brutes. But as soon as I was of age, I left Hogwarts and joined up. I loved hurting them by then! He'd tried his damndest to kill me, so this was my way of repaying the favor. Sooner or later, I knew, I'd kill someone he cared about, if indeed they were capable of true feeling. And eventually, it didn't matter as much anymore whether he knew them or not. They all blurred together, the faces of those I'd killed and those I had yet to kill. Each time I took another life, it was as though I'd killed him, over and over and over. It was my heaven.

Which, in a way, starts my lecture. You may still be young, 38 if I'm correct, but let me tell you, that never gave you the right to do what you did, to any of us! Hypocrite I may be, but you're a murderer! You and your disciples killed hundreds of us altogether, just in the Final Battle! My friends, my unrelated sisters and brothers, my protégé, my superiors! You killed my son, my poor boy. He was only 16 years old and I told him to leave, I told him it was dangerous, any mother would have done the same! But he didn't listen, he snuck back, and my poor baby never made it out of there alive. He barely understood what he was fighting for! He had a long life ahead of him. No parent should outlive their child. I'm 56 years old now, boy. He should be here welcoming me, ready to take care of me in my old age. He should have been there at his sister's graduation when I couldn't be. His poor sister! She lost her brother and her mother in one day. You destroyed families and lives, Potter. You are no better or worse than my own dead lord. You have ruined as many people as he has. You've got yourself just as many enemies. But you also have a weakness he didn't - a pretty wife and three little children, each of them in school, I believe. You're happy now, you've healed from your old battle scars. Me, I just got out of jail. My daughter is gone, she left me a note telling me to stay away from her and her family. My husband disappeared and is dead for all I know, and my poor son _is_ dead. All I have left is my anger, my hatred, and my lust for revenge.

So I warn you now - you've got yourself a dangerous enemy in me. Watch over your little wife and precious kids, because they're first on my list. You'll see their bodies someday soon. You'll see your daughter, wife, and younger son lying broken on the ground. You'll see your oldest son, just like I saw mine, his neck snapped, cuts and wounds all over his face. And then you go. Watch out for me, Potter. I'll be right behind you, the monster under the bed. I'll be following your every move, and let me tell you, that's not a good thing.

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**A/N: edited 2/1/11.**


	7. Tough Luck

Son,

I know you hate me. I've figured out by now you don't want to answer me. Maybe you don't even bother to read these letters. After the first twenty-three were ignored (yes, I count them. It's how I fill my days), I caught the drift. It's not like trying to figure out Muggles—which is complicated and pointless—but sorry, I promised last letter not to mention them—it's easy. You don't want to talk to me. But I just hoped you'd read this and answer it anyway. I can't help it but to miss my family. I shouldn't've left; don't you think I've realized that? I made a stupid mistake. I threw my life away. Can't you try to forgive me? I have nothing in this world. Nothing but a tattoo and a screwed-up mind, that is.

I miss you. Don't know how else to put it. I want to meet my grandkids. I want to see my daughter again, you, my wife. Yeah, I know she's living with you now. Though I'm not so sure about your sister. She could be anywhere. My owl isn't so great at finding people, so I'm not sending him. I can't risk sending him on a wild goose chase. He brings me everything I need to survive. Probably shouldn't even send him as far away as you are. After all, he brings me food…my paycheck…my instructions.

I got real lucky, son. Got out of Azkaban after only six years. That Skeeter woman raised hell, but she couldn't send me back after I served my sentence and did my time. Ha. Serves her right, trying to butt in. Although maybe she was right. But anyway. I got me a job and everything, even if it is only an anonymous advice column type of thing. Yep, I got really lucky, but I was real stupid before. Never leave your family, kid. Not for anything, 'cause it'll kill you slow and steady. It'll eat you away. But who am I to be preaching to you? You must be having a good laugh right about now.

That was stupid. I'm stupid. I gave up my family forever and I thought you would _laugh_? I'm an idiot, think you know that better than anyone. You're wrong. I know it better than you do, kid. And if you're reading this at all, you'll probably burn it soon anyway. Because for the thousandth time, I'm going to try to explain to you exactly why I left, what I was thinking. What made me think it was okay. What makes me an idiot and stupid and all that stuff.

To keep it simple, I wanted adventure. I wanted glory, and I wanted fame. A family wasn't enough for me. Now, of course, I know it's the other way around—I wasn't good enough for a family. You were smart, probably still are, yet you looked up to me like I was Merlin. Your sister doted on me, and your mother loved me with all her heart. And don't get me wrong, I loved you all, adored you, I still do, but I left. I was restless. I wanted a change of scenery. I'm not trying to make excuses. I know I wanted all the wrong things. I did a lot of bad things to try and get what I wanted. I am ashamed of myself, of my deeds, of my memories. I am ashamed of my thoughts and of my very existence. My memories are eating me from the inside out, destroying me. I don't need dementors for that. I'm getting what I deserve anyway, though. I'm dying, kiddo. Literally. I'm just not going to last much longer. And if it makes sense to a good person like you, I'm trying to repent. I'm trying to get back what I lost. I'm trying to get my family to at least see me one time before I die. Tell your kids what you want about me. Tell them I'm a heartless bastard who left you. You'd be right. But please don't let me die not knowing them. I need to know them. I need to.

And I need to see you again, and the rest of my family. Your family. Your sister's family. I don't want to die a lonely man. I'm not going to force myself into your lives, of course. I opened the door all those years ago when I left, and it's right that you shut it again. It's not right that _you_ had to shut it, just that it's shut. But sometimes, we want the wrong things to be right, or even just to happen. More than anything else in this world, I want to be part of my family. But I can understand if it's not possible, if you don't want it. If you ignore this like you've ignored my other letters. If you burn them in the dead of the night without telling your mother or sister or wife or kids or nieces or nephews or aunts and uncles or anybody that I wrote. I understand. But I have things I want to tell you in person, things I need to tell someone. And not just someone. Someone I care about and love. Even if they hate me. Someone of my blood. But maybe I shouldn't mess your life up anymore than I already have. Life for everyone is tough. I deserve it tougher.

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**A/N: Thanks to JJ Rust for pointing out my typo (: Also, thanks for all those amazing reviews! That goes for everyone else who's left me reviews as well, you guys are my favorite:D**


	8. Vengeance

My Lord,

You are gone. It is a harsh blow, but I shall recover well enough. I shall take over the cause. It will not be so difficult without you; you are better of dead anyway. You were a fool to overlook Dumbledore's theories. You were an idiot anyway. You were a fool and an idiot over many things, but Dumbledore chiefly. Worse, you were a proud and arrogant fool. Lord this, Lord that. Pointless and utterly ridiculous! Should Dumbledore have survived, you would have died far sooner than you did. You made so many mistakes. I, on the other hand, shall not.

For example, you ruled terribly. You left too often. You certainly trusted far too much, like when you made Snape your right-hand man. A ruler must keep a tight fist, the hand of death imminent always, hanging over every soldier's head and every subject's heart. You did well at first. Then all this craziness came out, pushed to the surface. Wanting a special wand…letting your prey get away time and time again…you lost a lot of respect. Your soldiers didn't like that they were following a madman. The only thing that kept them from deserting you was your unnatural tendency to come back from the dead with your wand at the ready, those beautiful words hanging from your lips. _Avada kedavra._ The most perfect spell, the spell that when cast grants eternal slumber, the ultimate punishment. I am ready to use it to enforce my will, to discipline my soldiers by creating examples, perhaps moreso than you were. I do not shy away from killing and death; I embrace it.

I do admire your use of the Horcruxes, however. Very clever, if I may compliment your memory. Except for this foolishness about only creating seven. Seven is such a small number! I plan to begin creating my own as soon as I escape this foul cell. I am trapped here with filthy traitors and sniveling cowards, using their blood to write this message. It is demeaning and undignified to kill with brute force, but it is also necessary. I shall do what must be done. None shall survive to tell the tale. I shall procure a wand soon enough, and with it conjure myself a quill and parchment to more eloquently document my plans. With them I shall, in greater detail, tell you what I think of you.

Dear me, but I've been rambling! I'm really only writing this so that once the dementors truly get to me, I can keep myself sane with these words. When the madness of despair consumes my mind, I shall simply read these words and be comforted by my future. Of course, I also must make a mark of my time here, a reminder of my imprisonment. Something far more permanent than a tattoo. And as I write on filthy stone walls with my enemies' blood, so shall I do in history, writing a bloody tale of vengeance and completion! I vow it by my tattoo! None shall dare to defy me when I regain my power! I shall take control! I, the formidable and ever-surviving successor of Lord Voldemort! I, the ever-powerful Lord of Wizardkind! They shall fear me more than they ever feared you, oh yes! In the generations to come, you will be no more than the name mothers use to frighten their children into behaving. You will be a word on the page of a textbook. I, I shall be the ruler of the wizarding world, the emperor in a reign of terror. Forevermore I shall be known as the cleanser of all foul-blooded creatures, the enslaver of worthless Muggles! I shall save humanity from nature's mistakes, those without a drop of magical blood in their veins along with those who claim to be Muggle-born!

Such a short letter, _my lord_. It doesn't contain the half or even a quarter of what I wish to tell you. You will never read it, of course; I am not so insane as to believe that! You are dead forever. A child, barely of age, got the best of you. Oh no, I am running out of room to write, what a shame, such a horrid shame. But there is no need to fear I will avenge your soldiers


	9. Even in Death

_Dear Scarecrow,_

Let me start by saying, I'm sorry. For everything. For running away. For hiding. For not taking you with me. I know you can never forgive me, never even consider it. But, you must have known how scared I was, Scarecrow. I was so petrified. And you were too...but you were older, braver, stronger...I thought...well, it doesn't matter cause I was wrong.

Do you remember, Scarecrow, when we made up each other's nicknames? You were Scarecrow, of course, because you're just so tall and lanky and skinny. Or, you were, anyway. By the time your seventh year rolled around, you were sexy as hell and every girl's heartache. Not me, though. No guy, including you, noticed me like that. I was just Rat, the weird tomboy with gray hair. Do you know how much, shallow as it is, I hate my hair? It's worse now, though. Pure white, and me not even fifty yet. It turned white after the War, and I never had the slightest desire to dye it. It's one more reminder of the life I led. A souvenir of sorts. A memento. God only knows I cling to my memories. Sometimes I think I'm going insane...that my memories are the real world and this is just a crazy fantasy. I suppose so many years with the dementors didn't help. I'm out now, of course, but still I dream of them...unless this is the dream.

How strange that you're still Scarecrow and I'm still Rat. How many years have gone by and an eleven-year-old's nickname is what we both go by. Well, I was eleven when I gave you yours, but you were twelve. Remembering your real name after so many years is hard for me, if you want the truth. I don't like to...It makes me think of mine.

It was never supposed to come out like this. For years you and me planned it, remember? Nights spent in the Common Room imagining the future. None of your other friends were there...none even knew about those hours stolen, spent talking about what would happen. I didn't even tell my friends...it was a secret. At the time, I liked to pretend that it meant something, a romantic gesture, maybe. With the advantage of hindsight, I can see that it was probably out of embarrassment. The fewer people who knew you still hung out with the Rat the better, right? How many times did you say "hi" when you were with them, Crow? How many bloody times? You used me, for God's sake! I was a way to you your bloody tattoo, and I know that now! Being friends was just a requirement for you, a duty, a chore! You broke my heart a million times just so you could get in with an army of Death Eaters, you left me heartache and bitter memories, and all I left you is a damn nickname! And you did the same for me anyway, _you _called me Rat before anyone else did! At least your nickname doesn't hurt to hear said!

God, I get so angry at you sometimes, I'm like a teenager again. Clearly. I always did have a knack for pointing out the obvious, didn't I? But the resentment always drains away fairly quickly, leaving me to miss you more than ever, and everything about you. Your laugh, your face, your charm. But you know, everything that made me fall for you disappeared after we joined up. I didn't admit it, ever, but I lost you, my best friend, to soldiers. Your laugh died, slowly but surely. Not even six months after we started, you stopped laughing completely. I remember the very last time I heard you laugh, Crow. I said something cruel to a Mudblood who was lying at our feet, and you laughed. At the time I rejoiced at the sound...now I see you weren't laughing. Your laugh was always rich and pure...but that day, it was cold and sharp and abrupt, a sound that could have cut stone. It hurt to hear, I'm sure, but I couldn't have cared less. I'd made you laugh.

And slowly at first, but then quicker and quicker, your looks changed. You became too skinny again. Unhealthily skinny, your bones poking out everywhere. Your cheeks were sunken, you were gaunt. But what I remember most is your eyes. Big and dark and hollow and empty. They were deep, though. Like I could have looked right into your soul...frightening. They still haunt me. I wake up in a cold sweat sometimes, the only image in my mind your eyes, your face. You were a shadow of the Scarecrow, a pale echo of my Crow.

Of course, that all took plenty of time. You didn't change overnight. Each change took enough time that I learned to adapt, I managed to adjust. But things changed, and I fell out of love. Not that I ever told you I loved you in the first place. Not that you would've cared. I know how you are, Crow, how you were. You always liked them fiery and beautiful. Not gray-haired and short and shapeless. But at least we stayed friends. Well, friendly. Could a Death Eater have friends? No one trusted anyone...but we were always on the same missions, and we acted like friends would. But I ruined that. I destroyed it.

But Scarecrow, can you blame me? The thing about being in a war is, you know you're going to die. You of all people should understand that. You don't think it, you don't worry about it, you don't even hope for it, you _know_. And I wasn't ready for that. I didn't want to die, I was so young, I had so much life left, or so I thought. I was hardly an adult, but then again, so were you. I should never have run off. I'm surprised I didn't get killed anyway. Then again, the Final Battle was only a few days later.

How well I know that.

How well I remember changing my mind. Going to Hogwarts. Raising my wand....hearing you call my name, not Rat, but my _real_ name, the name I haven't used since. Turning to you...

And watching the curse hit you.

Watching my best friend die. A so-called hero murdered you. I turned to the boy, he couldn't've even been of age yet, and screamed. I killed him, I murdered him. I'm more ashamed of that memory than any other. I'd killed children younger than him before, that's partly why I was in Azkaban for so long, but this was different somehow, I don't know why...

But no. It's not my most shameful memory.

Running away is. It's why you died. If I'd nearly left, you would've known where I was. We both would've been at the Final Battle. You wouldn't have seen me, turned from your battle, and cried my name. That kid would never have killed you and I wouldn't have killed him. Maybe you still would have died that night. But it wouldn't have been because of me.

So let me finish this by saying I'm sorry. For running away. For leaving you behind. But most of all, I'm sorry for coming back.

_Yours, even in death,_

_Rat_

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**A/N: I know it's been forever since I've updated, and I know I keep saying I'll update sooner, but I haven't. Sorry. Hehe, I'm not good at updating very often. But I really do have a little bit of another chapter written. If I finish it anytime soon, I'll try and post it. Oh, and if any of you who happen to be reading this are also reading Insert Name Here, don't expect an update for a while. I'm having writer's block. I know what I want to happen, I'm just having trouble writing it. But thanks for reading:).**

**Oh, and I wouldn't mind a couple reviews...that reminds me!**

**Thanks to: Bad Mum and MopCat for your reviews. Also, thanks to Shuna for the review and for complimenting my story in a thread in The Reviews Lounge forum:).**


	10. Merry Christmas

**A/N: Alright, this chapter has some language in it. So, if swearing offends you, just skip this chapter. There's some...er...violent material in this one, but I tried to keep it toned down. I'll try and update again soon. Though, I can't promise anything, seeing as I tend to update randomly. You know, I'll post three a week then not post again for a few months...So, I'll try, but don't quote me on that! Hehe. Oh yeah, thanks for all the reviews; I'm pretty sure I replied, but if I didn't, thanks! You guys are my favoritesXD. **

**(Since I'm here) DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter or any associated creations. I guess I don't even technically own this plot, since there's not really a plot to own...just letters. Anyway, just read! (Or not...)**

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Mum,

It's Christmas now. My first Christmas all alone, ever. Even in Azkaban it wasn't so bad. We couldn't distinguish the days in there, so I had no reason to feel lonely. Now, though, I've been free for three months and four days. Yes, I've been counting. I've had time to adjust to being by myself. But this is _Christmas_. I'm supposed to be with my family. But I have no family anymore. You and Dad apparently don't care to associate with me any longer, since I was caught. You two always were more of the behind-the-scenes type. Never openly declared support for the Dark Lord, did you? You two were just backstage, strictly silent about your beliefs. Until, of course, Dumbledore's side won. Then you were all for the Mudbloods and blood traitors, yeah? You had no qualms about getting up there on the stand and condemning me. I'm pretty sure your exact words were, "Send the bloody bitch to Azkaban!" and "She was always an arrogant one, proud of being cruel." That was you, right? Dad at least kept it impersonal. You pretended to be all offended and betrayed with your holier-than-thou words and attitude. Couldn't be honest; couldn't tell them I'd been taught to hate those filthy muggles and any with their blood. Couldn't bring up how I'd been raised to despise half-breeds and their parents. Didn't want to tell the nice Minister that you followed the Dark Lord's teachings, right? That so-called fair and kind man sent hundreds to their deaths, either directly or through Azkaban. We, meaning my comrades and I, were soldiers, following orders. We were fighting for what we believed in, same as Harry Potter and his 'heroic' friends. Ah, if only I could better convey sarcasm through a letter. They were treated as heroes. We were treated like dirt, no, worse than dirt. They killed as many people as we did. What makes them better? The fact that their side came out on top?

You know, would it have hurt to defend me, to lie for me? I mean, yes, I have the tattoo. No, you couldn't have completely covered for me. But it wouldn't have been impossible to come up with an excuse, you know. A simple, "they blackmailed us" or "it was to protect us" would have sufficed. But instead, you made my sentence that much longer. I've spent the last six years in Azkaban. Now, I have to spend the next four under supervision. This letter will certainly be read, perhaps even censored, so I can't put everything I want in it, but I can certainly let you know how angry I am with you. Then again, I can't even do that. There aren't words to express my feelings towards you. Anger, contempt, disappointment, the desire for revenge—mere shadows of the emotions I feel. I've had six years to dream up revenge, Mum. Six years of cheerless exile. Revenge isn't a happy thought. It was the one thing _they_ couldn't take from me. Everything else was gone, all my memories stolen. Thoughts of Hogwarts and home—gone. Christmases…Easters…summers…gone. Hogsmeade weekends, gone. My boyfriends, then my fiancé, gone. I tried so hard to hold onto him, but I couldn't. I couldn't keep him for myself. Even now, his name makes me think of the dementors. It's been three months and I _still_ can't face going to see him. But do you care? No, you don't!

But on an easier, more important subject—revenge. You have no idea of my thinking. The horrors I have in store for you…you'll wish you'd never been born. No, you'll wish _I'd _never been born. Dad will get away a bit lighter—a Crucio or two, then the killing curse, and that's it. But you…oh, the thought is just delicious! Feel proud, Mum. You raised me to become an insane and disgusting criminal. You and your ideals.

You never even upheld your own rules, Mum. I saw more than you and Dad thought I did. You, always going to bars. Always out to get into a one-night-only, no-strings-attached hook-up. Passion, that's what you wanted. Never thought to look to your own husband for it, though. And so he was forced to get his somewhere else, too. But he went more for the long, secret love affairs. He'd be with a woman for months at a time. One even lasted for almost four years. He went a little funny in the head after she ended it…she turned up dead, if I remember correctly.

Oh, the family secrets are all pouring now…his illegitimate children, never claimed, growing up with single mothers. They all went to Hogwarts, I'm sure, sorted into Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. Then, your children, raised by you and Dad, and me. Pretended they were his, didn't you? My darling sisters and brothers, not even one of them his. Am I? Or am I just another love child, my true father not even knowing of my existence?

Did you know, I found one of Dad's children? I was 17 years old and teetering, on the brink of becoming a Death Eater. As a Slytherin and a pureblood it was expected of me, but I was having some doubts. Then I found that little boy. He was only a second year. I'd heard him talking to another little boy in the library about his 'daddy' that visited him once when he was eight. I got that kid alone two weeks later. He was a Gryffindor, filthy thing. I tortured him into telling me about him and his mother and father. Then, when he told me his version, I laughed. I told him his mother was a shameless whore who seduced my father. I made him cry and cry and cry. Then I threatened him, told him to keep our meeting secret. I walked away from that child.

Do you know, or even wonder vaguely, why I'm ashamed of that memory?

It's because I didn't kill him. I wish I had. I wish I'd taken the life of that little bastard, my own half-brother. Supposedly. If I had, I may have been even higher up in the Dark Lord's circle.

But he's dead now, anyway, along with his worthless mother.

I tracked them down and found them a mere two days before I was arrested. That was five weeks after the Final Battle. I didn't even torture them, though. Didn't have time to…But I killed them, at least. They're both dead. Imagine…I'm so young, only 28, and I've already murdered so many. Not the people I killed in battle. That was different, required. But on my own, of my own free will, I've murdered 16 people. 16.

Did you know that I'm haunted? Every night I have bad dreams. Some are of you and Dad. Some are of my trial. Some are of the dementors. I've had quite a few about the Dark Lord, even. And plenty are about Harry Potter. Yes, the famous, world-saving Harry Potter, who killed my friends and companions, who destroyed my heroes. But most of my nightmares are about those 16 I killed…I remember every name, every face, every plea. And I'm proud that _I_ am the one who instigated those pleas for mercy, _I_ caused their hearts to stop beating. And I had a good reason, every time. All 16 times.

And soon, that will be 18 murders. You two will be the last and most important times I kill.

Maybe after, I'll kill myself too, so I don't have to spend more time in a cell, more of my life locked away. Or maybe I'll just run. I would consider framing someone, but I don't want to give someone else credit for _my_ work, my dreams. So I don't know just yet…

I can never send this, I realize that. It has far too much…er…sensitive information. So just think of this as the last gift you'll never receive from me. I'll have to destroy this so my guards don't find it. As though they would, as if they would even look. I've been docile and pleasant for the past three months, four days. Still, I can never be too careful.

Expect me later; I'll be dropping by to give you your _real_ present.

Happy Christmas, Mum.

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**Another A/N: I love reviews:D. Tell me what you think! Is it great? Terrible? Nothing special? The best thing you've ever read? I'll accept any reviews. Well, other than flames. That goes without saying, though. So give me some feedback, be it good, bad, or ugly! The button is right there....**


	11. Postscript

**Disclaimer: I still don't own. Though really, I own quite a few of the 'authors'****of these letters, since I made them up. **

**A/N: Warning--one mild swear word somewhere in there. I'd love reviews. Thanks to everyone for your wonderful reviews, by the way. Much appreciated, as well as those story and author alerts XD. You guys now have the privileged position of being my favorite.**

**I warn you, my favorite changes every few minutes usually. But that's not the point. (THE POINT IS!!! [liz, that was for you, even though you'll never read this.])**

_Dear Grandpa,_

Do you remember the first year I went to Hogwarts? You came to see me off on that September first...I was a shy child, even then, but having you there gave me courage. I walked right up onto the train, knowing you were watching me, rooting for me. With all that confidence I had, I'm rather surprised no older student tried to knock me down a peg or two. Perhaps they recognized me. Everyone says I look like your side of the family, after all. And with you on Platform 9 ¾, how could anyone fail to notice my ancestry?

Looking back now, I assume my mother and father must have been with us as well. However, I must be honest and tell you I don't recall seeing them there. They usually were not an important part of my life, and so I really am not surprised that I've forgotten their presence on such an exciting day. You were always the one who took care of me, and consequently I turned to you with all my victories and failures, insignificant as they may have been. The only hand my parents had in my early education was in the proper pureblood etiquette. I rarely remember speaking to them for any other reason than lessons in that subject.

With so many years of peace and equality, I have gained objectivity. I have discovered that many of the rules and ideas my parents taught me are, for lack of a better term, utter bullshit. I still cannot bring myself to renounce all my old ways—I'll come to that later—but I truly feel remorse for believing and following some of the things I did.

For example, I willingly allowed myself to be pushed into an arranged marriage. It was, of course, my duty to marry a respectable pureblood girl and produce an heir, but I wish I had not married so young. I have spent the last ten years in an unhappy marriage. Well, really I've been married for fifteen years, but I spent five in Azkaban for my crimes.

Horrid as this is, Grandpa, I'm grateful you're still sick. I haven't seen you since I was sixteen. That was the year my parents forbade me to see you anymore. They said you were corrupting me. I was angry with them, furious, but it was a cold anger, a silent anger. I had learned to not show my emotions, and I stayed true to my training. I accepted their decision without a word of complaint and I never told a soul of the ban they placed on me. My mates told me I was different when I returned to Hogwarts for my sixth year. I shrugged their comments off as I soon shrugged them off. I had no need for friends; that year, Harry Potter claimed the Dark Lord was back. I believed him, clearly. I was a Slytherin and a loner; naturally, I would be searching for a way to join Him. Throughout the summer before my seventh year, my parents were constantly reminding me that I was to be married a short year later, that I didn't need to join the Death Eaters, that our family would be protected by our reputation. I listened to them and I reassured them, but all the while I was planning how I would get my tattoo.

Once I turned seventeen, I could have gone to see you, in all actuality. I was legally of age. My parents could no longer stop me. However, I did not contact you or visit you. I no longer desired a meeting with you. I had set my heart on joining the Dark Lord's ranks.

In the middle of my seventh year, I realized how I could become a Death Eater. I decided I would speak with Severus Snape. He still taught Potions back then. I lingered after class one day and brought up the subject. It was a risk, I knew; supposedly he'd converted. I was certain, however, that he was my only chance at getting what I wanted.

He didn't help me. Indeed, he pretended ignorance, even when I finally asked him straight out who to get a tattoo from! In fact, he had the nerve to try to talk me out of it when I persisted! He only made me that much more determined to meet my goal.

Two weeks after my seventh year ended, I went to the Malfoy Manor without anyone's knowledge. I spoke to Lucius Malfoy, and received the Dark Mark shortly thereafter. I'd been so sure it would be more complex than that. I'd been anticipating some sort of initiation. In fact, I was rather disappointed that there wasn't. I'd still never killed or tortured. I'd bullied students here and there, but honestly, I was naive in such matters. I wished I could get a mission and become experienced already. I am ashamed, now, of my eagerness. In the following three years I saw more blood, carnage, and destruction than one would think possible. So many times I wished I had taken Snape's advice.

The biggest problem was the rest of the time, when I was _glad_ I'd become the soldier I had. I got such a sense of power when casting a Crucio. It was wonderful to use the Killing Curse. It made me feel like a god...I became addicted to the sense of total control. I was positively gleeful before any given mission. I loved feeling so strong.

But I soon discovered that I wasn't as strong as I had thought. Only thirteen months after I first became a Death Eater, I found out you'd fallen ill. Apparently, you were in a comatose state, and the Healers at Saint Mungo's couldn't determine why.

I went insane and lost my temper. For hours I threw things at the walls of my flat, tore things apart, screamed at the top of my lungs...if I'd had permission from my master, I would have gone and killed who knows how many Muggles, Muggleborns, and half-bloods alike. When I finally calmed down, I thought for a very long time. I wasn't quite nineteen, and I did a very childish thing, then. I decided I blamed you. If you'd been more proper, my parents wouldn't have made me stop visiting you, and I wouldn't have ever become a Death Eater.

Now, so many years later, I regret that. But at least it spurred me into action; I visited my parents for the first time since I'd spoken to Lucius. A week later, I was married. My parents were in a hurry so that I couldn't change my mind.

But as I previously said, I was addicted to the power of killing. Several weeks after I become a husband, I was a complete Death Eater again. I visited my wife from time to time, and ten months later my child, but in all honesty I didn't care about them.

I am not attempting to excuse myself from my crimes (I don't think they need to be excused), but really, I didn't know any better than to be the way I was. At nineteen, much of my life had been spent being told I was superior to mudbloods and half-bloods. I simply took that belief and tried to teach it to the rest of the world, whether they wanted to hear it or not. In a way, I was as innocent as many or any in the Order of the Phoenix. After all, how many of my comrades suffered at _their_ hands? Certainly as many as those that we tortured and killed. If I'm a murderer, so is Harry Potter, so is, say, Kingsley Shacklebolt. And all of their friends. And so are my fellows. We are all the same. We all committed terrible crimes and witnessed many more for a cause we believed in. And even now, I believe in my cause. It is one of the few things from my past I haven't denounced or tried to forget.

For over fifteen years you've lain in a coma, oblivious to the world around you. But I have a feeling you'll soon wake up and be curious as to the state of affairs. I write this letter to you so that when that time comes, you'll have a reliable source to pull from. Perhaps I'm a bit opinionated, yes, but in general I'm quite fair.

Though I must admit, allowing you to read this will also tell you of my faults and crimes. I wonder, will you forgive me? You always did hold grudges. You absolutely hated my mother and never forgave my father—your son—for marrying her. Will my choice to follow the Dark Lord cause such hate? Despite your own tattoo (one very few people know about) you didn't particularly agree with our master's views. Will the fact that I do mean you'll no longer be Grandpa to me? I have to say it wouldn't surprise me; you were rather judgmental. It was one of your more obvious shortcomings.

One of mine, as well. I always have judged others. I even judged you, to tell the truth. Much as I admired you, as much as I loved and respected you, I judged you. I won't tell you the judgments I made, for they would darken this letter far too much. Considering that the tone of my words already could hardly be called light, I am certain of your ability to draw your own conclusions as to what sort of things I thought. In my childhood, I thought you were an amazing person; in later years, I changed my mind.

Although, now that I'm an adult with three children of my own, a wife, and no parents...I realize I misjudged you.

Ah yes, I haven't mentioned that yet. My mother died during the War. She chose to take her own life rather than continue to see the world deteriorate further. My father was killed three months after the War ended. An unknown number of men or women murdered him. Tortured him first. My first-born son was in the house at the time. He was just over a year old at the time, and thankfully was in a different room. If those murderers had found him, he may have been killed. As it is, he still once in a while wakes up screaming. I can only imagine the things he must have heard to frighten him so badly. He's not quite fifteen yet. Merlin, he's so young...and I missed five years of his life.

But none of that pertains to the subject at hand. You're a very old man, Grandpa. If I'm correct and you wake up soon, you won't have long to live. You may die before you awaken. Or perhaps you'll have forgotten everything. It's possible that you won't even want to see me. I know that you'll be a very different person than the one I remember no matter what. You could have softened with the years, yes. You could appreciate the fact that I was a soldier (though I am now viewed as a criminal). Somehow, I doubt that. More likely, you'll be disgusted with me. I can only hope you'll read this letter before writing me off.

If we never speak again, I'm sorry I never came to see you before...that I cut you out of my life.

So I'll envelope this letter and owl it to Saint Mungo's...they'll shake their heads and leave it on your beside table. Maybe someday you'll read it.

_From, your grandson_

P.S. If you do wake up without your memory...I don't want you to know who I am. You'd likely be ashamed, so I'll spare you the burden of my name. Good-bye.

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**A/N #2: Look...the button is calling to you...it's saying..."_Review...review..._****_" _(Hehehe...I thought of another way to word that...but it would be too much of an innuendo...*Laughs insanely to self* But yes...erm...*Clears throat and shakes of crazy laughing* R+R, please. Compliments are loved, concrit is adored, and flames are laughed at because I think they're funny.**

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	12. Goodbye Forever

**A/N: I'm not really sure where this one came from. I just thought of it. All of the grammar mistakes are intentional. So are all of the spelling mistakes. I have another chapter to upload in the next couple of days. The other one is longer, grammatically correct, and a little different than most of the others. But as for this one: Sorry it's so short. But the author of the letter admits himself that he's "not much for letters or words" and therefore, I didn't think the letter should be too long. So now that I've rambled on, you can read.**

**Disclaimer: It's not mine.**

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Dear Mr. Malfoy

I'm not much for letters or words or nothing but sence no one else I know sent this I'm gonna.

Your a traitor. I see that word every where in the papers and on signs but they got it wrong, they never put you on those pitchers. You got the Mark like I do and my buddies do but your walkin free. Got a wife and a son too, your son might never live through a war but you and your wife did. Should be loyal but your not. You done your fair share of what there calling grimes. But you got money so your out of there. I heard from one of our old coworkers who is rich too that your bringin your family to some other country for your kids fith birthday. I never been to another country and your five year old will be? Thats not right. Specially cause he shouldn't even be alive cause you should of been in jail the year he was born and longer. I hardly did nothin and I got three years. You were in the Circle longer and you were free. Why? Did you betray the others or just bribe the bosses? And why? You think your too good or something? Your wrong.

And even getting out wouldn't of been so bad but you deny being part of us, that you were under the Imperius Curse or forced into it or somethin. I know you werent though. Do you just not remember? All my mates were killed or are in jail. And they were your mates too. You saw them die and I know you sued to care. You cried after one battle. I saw you. Thats not bad, we all cried sometimes, we were in a war. We all wake up screaming now and then. I bet you do too, does your wife comfort you? Only woman I could of married died. Most of us are still in jail where they got dementors to comfort them. How do you get off pretending you never knew them or nothin? You got people after your blood, Malfoy. But you'll be fine with your fancy home and all, right? I hope not. I hope they kill you. I would come and kill you alone...but I can't. See, I didn't forget that we used to be best friends. I won't kill my friend even though I hate you now. But if you do get killed I'm not gonna cry. I'll laugh. But I guess thats all you deserve from anyone since you dont care about us. Even though I'd feel bad a little. Only a little cause of all the years we were best mates. But oh well. Bye, Malfoy. Forever.


	13. To Whom it May Concern

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**Disclaimer: Don't own anything you recognize. **

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay(: Reviews?**

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To the minister:

Good day, sir. I am writing on behalf of the League of Purebloods. We formed two months after the Final Battle of the Second Wizards' War and have been a strong support group ever since then. We have been working for fair treatment and against discrimination for the two years we have been together. Now, a particular case has been brought to our attention.

Three weeks ago, a woman named Daphne Artemis Greengrass was released from Azkabanafter fulfilling her 18-month sentence. Twelve days ago, on the 19th of December, Ms. Greengrass walked into The Hog's Head, located at 743 Shakespeare Street, Hogsmeade. When a fellow customer by the name of Dennis Alan Creevey recognized her, a fight ensued. According to Creevey, Ms. Greengrass insulted him and reached for her wand. Three witnesses backed this story up. However, we have reason to believe that this is misinformation. Ms. Greengrass claims Creevey pulled his wand as soon as he recognized her. He then allegedly attempted to curse her, but being fairly drunk, the curse missed. At this point, Ms. Greengrass admits to defending herself against Creevey with a spell. The two fought for a mere minute and a half before being stopped by the bartender on duty, Terry Boot. Three eyewitnesses have supported Ms. Greengrass's account. Generally, this dilemma of divided witnesses would call for a trial before one-third of the Wizengamot. However, this never happened. Instead, Ms. Greengrass was brought to Azkaban by Auror Ronald Bilius Weasley and left there. Weasleyhas a personal history of feuding with Ms. Greengrassas well as a strong friendship with Creevey and therefore, according to the Auror's Handbook Version Nine, should not have been chosen for the case. He was assigned anyway and never interrogated either participant of the fight. The League's facts about this case were received at a later date from other sources - namely, Ms. Greengrass, Mr. Creevey, Mr. Boot, and the witnesses of this case.

Usually, both participants would be held in a low-security cell in Azkaban with priveleges and no dementors, until the trial. The preliminary trial is to take place within ten days of the fight. Each participant is to have basic rights, one chance to speak with a family member or friend, and the option of hiring a representative. Unfortunately, none of this rules were followed in this case.

At approximately 7:16 on December 19th, 1999, Auror Weasley arrived on the scene. He grabbed Ms. Greengrass'sleft wrist, leaving bruises, and pushed her sleeve past her elbow. Upon seeing her arm, he allegedly shouted "you're a bloody Death Eater, I knew it!" At this point, he is believed to have said, "Dennis, it's fine, don't worry. We can let this one go." Despite Ms. Greengrass's protests, Weasley apparated her to Azkabanand locked her in a medium-security cell with all its simple comforts removed and a dementor patrolling outside. He did not inform her of her right to a representative. She was not told she could speak to someone. She, fortunately, had studied law in the past and knew that what was occuring was illegal and incorrect. Because Weasley confiscated her wand upon arriving at the cell, though, she could do nothing to uphold her rights. After seven days, another Auror (Justin Austin Finch-Fletchley) entered the cell during a routine inspection. Ms. Greengrass calmly explained her situation. Finch-Fletchley immediately brought her to the Ministry of Magic. Dennis Creeveywas brought in, along with Aberforth Dumbledore, Terry Boot, and other witnesses. Ms. Greengrass requested a member of our league be brought in as well. Her request was granted and I myself joined their party. After an hour and a half of discussion, a trial date was ordained. It was decided that Mr. Weasley would not be present at the trial and that only one-third of the Wizengamot would be presiding, rather than the standard three-quarters in a case of an Auror disobeying the rules. The trial went surprisingly smoothly for a Pureblood. One senior member of the Wizengamot spat on Ms. Greengrass and two junior members were heard to claim "rightful prejudice" against her. The Wizengamotdecided that both Ms. Greengrass and Mr. Creevey would walk free, though nearly half (48%) of the gathered members voted that Ms. Greengrass be returned to Azkaban.

Now I come to the main purpose of my letter. Ms. Greengrass received unjust and inhuman treatment at the hand of the law. For seven days she was subjected to a foul cell that had no bed and no toilet. She was fed once a day by Weasley himself until Finch-Fletchley found her. It turns out that Weasley placed Ms. Greengrass in a cell far off the normal circuit. She had marks on her left wrist from Weasley's hand. When she departed from the Ministry after her trial, Weasley saw her again. In front of fourteen other people, he called her a "pureblooded, ugly bitch." He is facing no charges whatsoever for any of his offenses, despite the fact that workers have been fired for lesser misdeeds. We of the League of Purebloods ask that you look into this strange neglect of procedure. Those in our group have all experienced prejudice, but what occured to Ms. Greengrass went a step further. She was violated harshly and injured because of her past and her beliefs. She did not deserve that.

Many would argue that Ms. Greengrass did deserve what she got, simply after seeing her tattoo. I, too, have one. Many normal people do. I fought in the First War because it was expected of me. I fought again in the Second War because I was tired of being treated like an animal. Ms. Greengrass has stated on record numerous times that she wishes she had never fought. She has not claimed to change her beliefs, only her opinion of war and violence. Few acknowledge this. Thanks to the ignorance of an Auror, she suffered seven days of torture.

Again, Minister, we beg that you investigate your Aurors and impress upon them the necessity of tolerance and equality.

Thank you for taking the time to read this humble letter.

Respectfully yours,

The League of Purebloods


	14. All the Best

_Astoria,_

We used to be friends. Or so I thought, anyway. Rather daft of me, but I hear hindsight is always 20/20. But honestly - I thought of you as my best mate, despite the age difference. Now I know better, though. I mean, if you were really my best friend, you wouldn't be marrying the man I love.

Draco Malfoy. Used to be the Prince of Slytherin, remember? That wasn't why I loved him. I loved the short blond hero who stood up for our house and who treated me like a person, not a toy or a bedmate. He used to always get good marks, especially in History of Magic. If it hadn't been for a Gryffindor in our year, Hermione Granger (I'm sure you know the name, she's one of Potter's sidekicks), he'd have been top in everything. He could spend hours making his essays perfect. But I'm sure you know all that...Mrs. Malfoy.

You know what really makes me mad? You weren't even there for him when he needed someone. I was. When he was struggling to please his father in first year, I helped him with his Transfiguration. When he was in third year and trying to cast a Patronus charm to counter the dementors, I gave him chocolate and held him. In sixth year, when he refused to tell anyone why he was so scared, I was there, letting him shake and cry without explaining, and I never told a soul, till now.

But the biggest thing of all - you never fought in the war with us. We were only teenagers, and you were only, what, 14? 15? I don't remember. Me and Draco, we fought. I killed people, and not just in the Final Battle. I killed a grown man two weeks before the battle. I cried all night, and you know who comforted me? That's right. Draco. And at the Final Battle, when we came back to fight, we stayed together. Back-to-back, we fought. Oh, he left after awhile, don't think we were completely glued together. But he came back eventually. He always came back, no matter how long he was gone. And we stayed together, battling. Killing other people. I tried to think of them as The Enemy, but...well, it's not easy to say the words you know will stop a beating heart. It's not easy. I never wanted to play god, never wanted to decide who gets to live. And Draco told me the next day he wished he'd died in battle. He said it was his fault Crabbe died, and even Crabbe had made it, he'd killed someone he admired. I'm the one who wiped his tears and rocked him while he sobbed. He tried to kill himself, y'know, and I'm the one who bandaged his wrists and got him to a Healer knowing it would make him hate me for a long time. He wouldn't tell me what person it was that he killed that pushed him over the edge like that. Later I found out it was Nymphadora Tonks. That bloody war made him kill his cousin - his favorite cousin. Not that he was supposed to like her. But do you know that he blames himself for her son growing up an orphan? Do you know that now that I'm the Hogwarts Transfiguration professor, he's always asking me how Teddy is? I still have to comfort him sometimes when he's drunk off firewhiskey. Just last week we went out to the Hog's Head together and he told me he wanted to die. He'd had another nightmare, where he was watching Dumbledore fall off the roof and laughing His laugh. He always gets really bad after that one.

But he's not the only one with nightmares. I have the same one almost every night. I'm at the Final Battle, it's after Draco left. First Bellatrix comes up to me looking madder than ever, and she uses the Cruciatus Curse on me till I'm begging for mercy. Then I realize that it's not Bellatrix, it's me, and I'm hurting this little boy, and laughing and crying. Then I run off and find Percy Weasley, the only prefect who every cared enough to explain _why _he was reporting me. My first crush, my first distraction from Draco. Anyway, we start dueling, and he Disarms me and leaves to find a new opponent. So I get my wand and head off to the Great Hall. First thing I see is Susan Bones trying to fend off Fenrir Greyback, and before I remember that she's The Enemy, not the girl who always partnered with me during Charms and Divination, I Stupefy Greyback. Susan and I look at each other and then I run to where I see Draco. And he looks at me, and his eyes are green, and he kills me, and I wake up.

Everything in that dream happened, Astoria. Everything but me torturing that boy and Draco killing me. That's why I always wake up crying. And that was only a bit of the Final Battle. But you, you could never understand. You've never had to be a soldier. You've never killed your cousin. You've never murdered a father, a sister, a friend. You can never understand that part of Draco.

The war, the past, that's a huge part of who Draco is - who I am. He'll probably always start crying when he sees a dead body, even in a picture. He'll probably always yell and start a fight when he feels like things are out of control. We almost all do. He needs to feel safe, and when he feels threatened or scared, he'll react. You'll think he's overreacting. Because you've never been in so much danger that a wrong move will mean death for you or a friend, you can never be everything he'll need.

But...maybe that's why he loves you more than me. Because you can be his rock, his anchor. You're peace. Me and him, together, we would be two cynical, broken down, death-obsessed soldiers. For his sake, I hope you can save him from that fate, bring him back to life and keep him there in a way I never would be able to. I want him to be happy, even without me. Even if it means I have to be broken alone.

So I'll come to the wedding, Astoria, and I'll wish you both the world. But I will never again be your best mate, and it will be the last time you see me, I'm sure. And when he wakes up crying, in agony, and you don't know what to do, what to say, he'll wish for me - the one thing you can never be.

Give him what he deserves, though. For me.


	15. Rules

**Disclaimer: As usual, JKR owns everything recognizable.**

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Sybil Trelawney,

Yes, I know. I was always talentless and annoying in your subject. I've never been much for Divination. I was more for Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Or really just the Dark Arts. I gleaned what information about them I could from our simple countercurses and the innumerable chapters we had to read about how to block jinxes. Did you know how I was going to turn out? Did you See it ahead of time in your crystal ball, in my tea leaves? Did you see me killing and torturing people? I doubt it. I don't really believe in Seers. You're all just frauds, if you ask me. But don't ask me, because I don't really know what I'm talking about.

Why am I writing to you, you might ask? Shouldn't you already know? Well, I'm writing to you because I need to write to someone and you, for some reason, are the first person I thought of. I just feel like I need to explain myself to someone who won't mention it to other people, and you hardly ever join people whose "Inner Eyes are clouded by the mundane." I think that's how you used to put it.

I never was a bully. I didn't take pleasure in others' pain when I was a kid. I learned to like it over the years, though, or at least to be immune to the disgust some of us felt. It was just a job to most of us. Of course, you got the nutters like Bellatrix Lestrange sometimes. She loved what we did. Can't say I blamed her. It was nice to have a set task, something I had to do and when I was done, it was over. It's exactly the kind of thing I always wanted to do. I'm the sort of person who uses to-do lists and checkmarks. Which is probably why I was never great shakes in your class.

It's also why I like the Dark Arts. With the stuff your people do, there's all kinds of exceptions and maybes and what-ifs. With the Dark stuff, you say the spell and someone hurts or dies. Easy. Rules are what I like, and on the Dark side they don't get broken. They always work. Well, except with Harry Potter. But even him livingwas actually a rule, just one the Dark Lord overlooked.

The reason I joined him instead of just quietly practicing my Dark Arts in some little village somewhere was because I admired him. Still do. He ran things exactly how they should be run. If you did something right, you got rewarded. If you messed up or failed to do your job, you got punished. It was perfect. No lies, no hidden layers, no taking his word back. That was my heaven. I don't see why some Death Eaters thought he was unfair. I never once got punished in all the years I served him, because I always just did what he told me. It wasn't like he asked impossible things of us. There were people to torture, people to kill, and people to recruit. It wasn't like he was asking us to destroy the world in one shot, for Merlin's sake.

You're probably thinking how I'm a horrible person for taking other people's deaths so lightly. But it's not like it really matters. Everyone dies eventually. We just sped up the process. Sure, we might have made the end sort of painful, but so what? It's just death. Nothing to be scared of.

And as for the torture... Well, the torture was the only thing I had a problem with, back when I first started. It was my first mission and I got sent out, along with five or six others, to torture a group of Aurors we'd caught for information. I thought we should just use Veritaserum and then kill them, but those weren't our orders; we were to use the Cruciatus Curse to get it out of them. I did it without questioning the orders, of course; those were the rules, and I always follow the rules. I just didn't like it, back then. Like I already said, I got over my original issues with that, though. It just took some time. Make a man do something over and over, and he'll learn to like it. Eventually I couldn't even hear their screams anymore. Eventually I didn't even care that they were screaming.

Of course, there a few of our people we had to kill ourselves. Usually kids who changed their minds and wanted out, or old ones who started getting too preachy. We even had the occasional woman who got herself pregnant at a bad time from the wrong person. It wasn't a real problem, killing them. There were plenty to take their places. He was fair about it, mind you. He didn't torture the ones who had to die, just had someone take care of them nice and quick. No problems there. Sometimes they were even proud to die. It wasn't as good as dying in a battle - not as much honor - but it was good enough. It was death for a cause we believed in. It was the rule.

Some of my coworkers didn't follow the rules all the time. They'd kill someone faster than they were told, or they'd torture someone they weren't supposed to. But after awhile they stopped doing it. Stopped around me, anyway. They learned I'd report it. I like things neat and tidy and _right_. Breaking rules isn't right. There was only one person I saw break rules who I didn't report. And I had a good reason not to. I mean, what kind of man would report his own father? Me and him, we were always good mates, all the way up till the end of the war. That was when he was getting old and sympathizing with Potter and Dumbledore and them. Still, I didn't report him when he started talking like a traitor, when he let some of the enemies live. He's my _dad_.

Most people lost someone in the War. Not me. Not one person I cared about was killed at any point of the war. I mean, I was injured pretty badly in the Final Battle of the Second War, but not so badly that I died or anything, obviously. I nearly lost my left leg and arm, which is my wand side. But I didn't and that was the only problem.

I mean, it was pretty horrible that a Death Eater I'd worked with for three years, been on at least fifty missions with, did that to me. Looked me in the eyes, smiled, and blasted me with his wand. It hurt a lot, if you want the truth. It didn't just hurt, it _hurt_. I considered this person my friend and then, bam, no warning other than the smile. Yeah, it hurt.

But anyway. Back to the rules. If I'd joined up on your side, then you know what would've happened? I'd've been asked to sneak around and break rules and ignore laws and even, for the first couple years, fight with the Ministry. The ones who _make_ your rules. I couldn't do that. Besides, my dad expected me to stay on his side, and there was no reason to disappoint him. On my side, I never once broke my leader's laws, except for when I didn't report my dad.

My only regret is that we lost. Which means that, yes, I had to conform to your rules, and yes, I'm in Azkaban. For a long time. Probably until I die. I'm just lucky they're letting me write to you. Can't talk to anyone around here - they're all either going mad or are already there, and I'm not about to try to buddy up with a dementor. So I'm writing to you.

Now for this, you'll have to forgive me. But I don't have much to entertain myself in here. So I'm going to play a little game with you. I'm not going to tell you my name. If you're _really_ a Seer, you'll already know I'm writing to you and you'll know who I am and you can write back. But if I don't get a letter back from you, then I'll know that you didn't See anything. Which would mean, in essence, that everything I did was okay, because if there's nothing psychic, then the only thing we, as humans, have to go on is rules. And I've done nothing in my life but follow rules.

So write me back if what I did was wrong. And I hope you don't write me back, because I abide by my laws and I don't want to find out that all my rules were worthless the whole time.


	16. Hero

**Disclaimer: JKR's.**

**A/N:** a step outside the norm from the rest, as the author of the letter is named. but I had to write this, the idea just wouldn't leave me alone xD

**an.** edited 12.17.11

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_Dear Sirius,_

I'm going to die soon. So I've decided I'd better write you one last letter first, just to set things in order. Incidentally, I'm going to send this one, despite the fact that I've never sent the others. I'm not certain how many I've written by now. I'm sure it's at least a hundred; after all, I've written one each week since we last saw each other. That was the day you called me a worthless, pureblood bigot who deserved to die. Well, you're getting your wish, brother of mine. And not only that, you get to tell me "I told you so." You were right, and I can see it now. He _is_ evil after all, and I _am_ a worthless, pureblood bigot for joining him. I never should have believed everything they told me. Unfortunately for both of us, I did, and now I pay the price. Now, everybody pays the price.

The point of this letter, though, is that I'm fixing things. I have one final thing to do before I go to my death. By your standards it's likely that it will be the only brave thing I'll have done in my entire life, my only redeeming action. By my standards, I'd call that bullshit. You may consider being a Death Eater cowardly, Sirius, but you're entirely wrong. The nightmares I've lived since getting this tattoo... You, though, you'll just think I brought it all upon myself, and perhaps I did. Either way, the result is the same – I've survived far more than you could possibly imagine, and I'm tired, so tired.

Tonight, Sirius, is the night. The night I will risk everything to steal the Dark Lord's most valuable possession. Destroying it will make it possible for Him to be killed, perhaps even soon. I'm not asking for glory or recognition, though; I just don't want to die without doing my part. Without helping _you_. And to be honest, care very little about helping anybody else. I'm hardly concerned about rescuing the millions who will die by his command; hardly care about saving the children who will surely suffer should He succeed in His quest. I have no desire to be a hero or a martyr, to save the world. You're the only one I've ever wanted to save. Maybe that's because deep down I've always wanted to be you. To not care about Mum and Dad's approval; to be brave, strong, charming; to be, above all else, _good._ However, that will never be. I have always been this, and I always will be. A Black through and through.

As I was saying, the item I plan to steal from the Dark Lord is one of his most cherished possessions. It is altogether too likely that he will feel its absence instantly upon its removal. Following that, he will swoop down upon me and proceed to torture and kill me for betraying him. With any luck whatsoever, though, he's become so twisted that he won't know the difference until it's destroyed.

I am an intelligent man, Sirius, and I know exactly what you'll say when you read this. "Why doesn't he just tell me what the bloody thing is?" I understand, of course, where that thought would come from. If you knew, you could alert your fellow members of the Order of the Phoenix. (And yes, we all know about the Order; there is a spy within your ranks. If I knew who the culprit was, I would inform you; however, I am not privy to that information.) Well, trust me when I say I would tell you if I could. However, I'm far too worried that this letter will be intercepted and fall into the hands of the wrong people. If my fellow Death Eaters were to know what I have discovered… I cannot impress upon you how horrible the consequences would be. We would have a thousand Death Eaters following in his footsteps, and then hell would truly break loose on Earth, fire would rain upon the world, and the beasts I have spent my life surrounded by would be immortalized for all eternity. I dare not allow such a future to come to pass. I cannot allow this information to enter their hands.

My discovery still astounds me inexpressibly. First of all, because the Dark Lord has never trusted me, most likely because I am connected to you, and in turn, the Order. I am a prime candidate to become a double agent, and so I was never welcomed into the inner circle. Now, I am glad for it; I could never have escaped so easily had I been important, though once all I wanted was to be his right-hand man. I know now that He has slaves, not follower. I can no longer murder for someone who cannot truly be called a man.

The real reason I am so shocked has nothing to do with my place in the ranks of the Death Eaters. No, it is because of the very caliber of this crime. It is a perversion of nature, of wizardkind. I never even considered this; even the Dark Lord should have known better than to invoke such disgusting magic…

Forgive me, Sirius, for rambling so. I know you well enough, and it's more than likely that you won't pay this letter a second thought, if you even read the entire thing. Whether or not you accept it, though, I have written nothing but the truth today. These may even be the most truthful words I've ever freely given away. So I hope you _will_ read this and take it seriously. It is invaluable to your mission.

This object I have spoken of will be taken care of. I will steal it tonight with the assistance of a close friend. Someone you've known since childhood. I will then attempt to destroy it. I suspect it will not be so simple as that, but I will do everything I can without the proper research. (If I were to research at all, the Dark Lord would realize what I have found, and my efforts will come to naught.) Should I die before accomplishing its destruction, I will instruct my friend to continue. This is the most likely course the future will take, for this very night, not long after I steal the object, I will face my death. We will never see each other again, Sirius, at least not in this world. Chances are we won't meet in the next, either, and I regret that. I miss you and the friendship we once shared, eons ago.

Lastly, if you manage to unravel this letter and learn who is assisting me… Don't bother asking him for further information. He will deny you. He is very loyal to me and would not go back on his word, especially if it means helping you. If it were possible, I would change that, but I doubt he will ever accept you as my brother.

I have stalled for too long; the night draws near, and it is time I left.

Good-bye, my brother. I wish you the world.

_Regulus Arcturus Black_


	17. Religion

**Disclaimer: **I have no rights:)

**A/N:** I can feel this fic drawing to a close... I'll probably write a couple more chapters. I have an idea for the last chapter. But anyway, I've been writing this for a long time, and I think it needs to end officially. I haven't had much inspiration for it lately, anyway. I considered just letting it go, but it needs some closure.

So, enjoy the last few chapters. R&R:)

**A/N 2:** I'd like to thank Cindy for the beautiful review:) Reading that really made my day. I'm glad you liked this so much. I can honestly say that was the nicest review I've ever gotten, definitely one of the best. Thanks a million:DD

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Dear God,

Well, I guess this just proves how badly I need a life. I'm writing to the main character of the biggest, most unbelievable fairytale the Muggles ever created. Just in case you, you know, actually _do_ exist. I mean, I never thought you could. But now I'm starting to wonder – how else could it be possible for us to exist? Some wizards say there was evolution; others say we've always existed. But none of that ever made sense to me. Everything has to have a beginning. Maybe you were ours.

So I guess I'm writing in order to validate myself. A prayer, of sorts. I've attended Muggle church a few times out of curiosity. And of late, I've begun worrying about my death. I'm not young anymore, and I can feel death in my bones. Because of my recent fascination with religion, I've also begun worrying about what will happen after I die. If you exist, then so does heaven, and so does hell. I'm concerned that I'm going to hell for my deeds.

I have never in my life done something evil, though. I simply fought in a war. Two wars, really. How can I be blamed for that? I didn't take pleasure in killing. I didn't particularly want to be a soldier; I don't especially believe in war. I'm really something of a pacifist. However, I come from a long line of soldiers and politicians – avid war supporters. Some parents train their children to become Healers or teachers. I was trained from a very young age to be a Death Eater. I used to think my anti-war feelings would eventually pass, that it was just a phase I was going through, but they never did. Even as I carried out missions for the Dark Lord, I hated what I was doing. I hated myself. He didn't trust me; I'm sure he knew from the start that I wasn't a strong supporter. Even when I go t my tattoo, I didn't celebrate the way most did. I went home and got drunk and didn't report for duty for three more days. He punished me for that. I'm lucky he didn't kill me. I believe he respected my family too much to do so.

Well, not _respected_. The Dark Lord respected no one. I don't think he was capable of such positive emotion. But he did know that my family had always supported him, and if he killed the youngest son – the last child of all – that he may lose that, and we were very valuable to him. So he simple Crucio'd me. Many, many times. In person. I suppose I should have felt honored, but there was no room for anything but pain.

But to get back to the main point of my letter, do my actions in the past warrant eternal damnation? I never wanted to hurt anyone. The other side also caused death, misery, and pain. I don't really think either side was entirely in the right. Everyone hated everyone else. No matter who won the war, they would have to do it by murder. And everyone had to choose a side. So I chose mine. Perhaps it was stupid of me to do that. I could have fled the country, surely. I could have gone somewhere the war hadn't yet touched and waited it out. But then I would be a coward and a disgrace. I didn't want to bring shame to my family. We love each other, we've always been close. To shame them would be unbearable. I decided instead to compromise all my beliefs and morals.

And so during the war, I murdered many people. Men and women. At least I avoided killing children. I doubt I would have been able to do that, even if he had told me to. I wasn't even present for the Final Battle. I stayed far away, because I couldn't face the thought of hurting students. It's a good thing the Dark Lord was vanquished there, or I may have died for avoiding it.

I am a murderer, and that goes against the bible these Muggles follow. I played God. I tortured people. It was unwilling, but it was torture all the same. I have done a lot of terrible things in my life. Most of them I regret.

Maybe I do deserve to go to hell for my sins. But I don't think so. I wasn't happy. It was a duty I had to perform, a responsibility. It was my entire life, back then. Surviving. Being a soldier.

And who knows? Maybe writing this was a waste of time. Maybe you don't even exist. Maybe I'm insane for even considering the Muggles are right about you.

All I truly know is that I'm going to burn this letter. If you are there, you'll already know all this, anyway. And if you aren't, then no one will ever have to know of my momentary lapse of self.

Good-bye, I suppose. Maybe I'll see you soon.


	18. The Other Dumbledore

**Disclaimer:** JKR's.

**A/N: **Reviews are love:) This chapter was sort of accidental...

I'm still planning on twenty chapters. I'm just lacking in inspiration, hence the long lapse between chapters. I expect it'll happen again, and this fic will be dragged out even longer. (*facepalm.*) Hopefully I'll manage to wrap it up in the near(ish) future.

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Dear Aberforth,

How have you been? I imagine bitter, sarcastic, and more irritable than ever, now that you're famous. I'm willing to bet that the Hog's Head is packed these days. You always hated customers. I still don't understand why you opened a bar. You're the most antisocial bastard I've ever known.

I'm sorry I took so long to write. But it's hard. I'm sure you understand that; you haven't written either. I'm old, Ab, and so are you. We're both getting closer to the end, obviously. You have to feel it too. And I can't bear the thought of dying without seeing you one more time.

I meant to write sooner. That way, if you agree to see me, we could have more chances to talk. Maybe become friends like we used to be. I miss you. A lot. Do you ever miss me? Or are you too much of a stubborn old man? That's more likely. I'm the one who walked away from you. You told me if I left, to never come back.

But I want to come back. Ab, I want to come back. I never got married, you know. I can't lie; I've been with other people since I became a Death Eater. It was part of the life, in a way. I can't explain it properly. I was the new girl back then. The mystery. A lot of the Death Eaters I ran with, they'd known each other a long time. They could be so charming. It was hard to resist the glory they promised me.

I grew up eventually, though. I stopped talking to that kind. Believe it or not, Ab, there are some really good people out there who were Death Eaters. I don't know anymore if I'm one of them, but I was lucky enough to get to know some. They taught me how to survive the people we worked with. Without them I would have been killed so much sooner. Or maybe I would have killed myself. The thought crossed my mind many, many times over the years. I've lived a hard life, even if you disagree.

You will. Or else you'll say I brought it upon myself. I asked for this tattoo, so I deserve anything I got.

But you're wrong, Ab. I didn't ask for the things that happened to me or the things I did to other people. I didn't understand what it meant to join up. I wasn't prepared for it… for the killing, the torture. The pain and guilt. But sometimes I liked that feeling of power.

Don't you dare condemn me for that, Aberforth Dumbledore. You don't understand what it's like, to be in total control of another person's life. Whether they live or die. It's a terrible, frightening feeling, but it's also somehow amazing. The most perfect, incredible feeling in the world is the feeling of control.

But that's where it ends. The moment you take their life, you feel… lower than low. Disgusting. Unbearably evil. Because you are. Murderers are the worst people, Ab. I'm one of them. I won't make excuses for it.

I need you to know one thing, Ab. I need you to know that I regret it. There are very few things I regret in my life. I regret dropping out. I regret running away from you. And I regret accepting this tattoo.

I don't regret the things I did as a Death Eater, because I did those things as a soldier. I hate them, I hate myself because of them, but I don't regret them, because there honestly was no way out of that.

But if I'd never become a Death Eater, maybe I'd still be the kind of woman you could befriend. Maybe even the kind you'd love.

I'm going to come see you, Aberforth. I'm going to deliver this letter to you in person, because otherwise I know I won't show up. I'll send the letter and then disappear again. But you deserve to know the truth about what I've done and what I haven't.

And you deserve to know that I never stopped loving you.


	19. Shame

**an. **well, long time no see, my faithful readers! random idea i wrote out whilst waiting for my clothes to dry at the laundromat earlier. enjoy. [:

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Hey.

How've you been doing? Been awhile since I've last written, sorry about that. I was so happy when I read about Louisa! I was so worried she and the baby wouldn't make it, that Greyback guy can be really cruel. Lucky they finally caught him, though.

I meant to write back sooner, by the way. I'm sorry. I know you worry. It's just hard sometimes, with the dementors patrolling so often lately. Do you ever wonder why the Ministry hired them? Brought them back? I do. All the time. It just makes this place so much...

Never mind, you don't need to hear about all that! Tell Jackie and Ana and all the kids I say hi, and that I miss you all like mad! And happy Christmas, too, while I'm thinking of it. Dunno if you'll get this in time for the holidays, what with all the mail checks and the censoring stops and all, but I hope you do!

Christmas here wasn't too bad last year, and I'm hoping it will be like that again this year. They don't let the dementors patrol that on Christmas Day, and we get extra food! It's nothing like a Hogwarts feast, and of course it doesn't hold a candle to your place, but it's not so bad,. really.

Okay, I was putting this off. But look, in your last letter, you know how you asked why it always takes me so long to write back? Discounting the security, even? Well. I'm going to be as honest as I can with you on the off-chance you'll get to read the whole thing, because... well, lying to you is hard.

It's just really difficult to write any letters at all. I mean, there's the obvious reason for that - I don't want to write and depress everyone with all this that I think about so often. So I have to build up to writing, to being happy enough to write. That's mainly because of the dementors. I'm a really different person here. You remember me as Ana's cheerful best friend, planning to go into the Ministry and change things. Now I'm... I'm a prisoner. It changes a girl. All I think about is... the bad days. All the awful things I did, in the name of "purity." I mean, I'm not one of those nutters obsessed with maintaining bloodlines or anything, you know that. You told me that. And I should have listened to you, but I didn't. My parents expected me to join up, they told me they knew I would. Knew it from the day the Hat Sorted me into Slytherin, marking me as the family disgrace. I spent so many years trying to escape that, trying to make them like me. But by sixth year, I was just too tired to do it anymore. So I figured I may as well accept that they were right. So I went to the Carrows one night (it was in November) and they accepted my explanation. I was a Pureblood Slytherin, after all.

I know that seems senseless to someone like you. Joining the Death Eaters just as a twisted way to get back at my parents. But you're not like us. You don't get it; you love your kids. I know you think I'm wrong about my parents, that they care about me like you love Ana, but I'm not. At sixteen, I could already tell the difference between love and barely concealable hatred. And they hated me, they really did. Maybe if I see you ever again, I'll tell you how I know. Because Merlin, I could tell you some stories...

So, yeah. The Carrows tested me. Crucio'd me endlessly, but I stood it pretty easily. By mid-December, they tattooed me, and my parents told me not to come home. Ever. And you know the rest already. Ana's told you by now, or else the Daily Prophet has. I became their... pet. Their, I don't even know what to really call it, their project. How to Shape a Teenage Girl Into a Vicious Death Eater. The things those two did to me, the things they made me do... I can't bear to remember it all, I can't, not yet.

You already know the worst one, anyway. And that's the real reason I can't always bring myself to write you. The shame... Every single time I pick up a quill to respond to you, the shame comes rushing back. Not that it's ever very far to begin with. But you're like my mum. Not my real mum, a better one. She hates me. You've treated me as good as Ana and the little ones since first year. And I don't deserve that anymore. After all I did, and knowing it was me who did it is torture, I wasn't even Imperiused. The disgust you must feel for me... I killed them. Oh, Merlin, I killed them. Me. All those poor children are dead, thanks to me. I just _snapped_, I can't explain it, and that's the worst of it. There's no reason for it, I just did it, the Carrows egging me on and on and on the whole while.

I'm so sorry, so bloody sorry. I can't even... It's all I remember, all I think of, day after day. Their tiny screams...

That's why I don't write to you when I should. Why I won't respond to Ana's letters. Or Jackie or Demelza or Chrys. It's hard enough just writing to you, but I can't bring myself to completely cut you off. Even though you shouldn't have to communicate with a monster like me. No, not a monster. A Death Eater.

But! Anyway! I'm sorry to have gone on so long about all that. Merlin, I was going on, though! As if I were eighty rather than just eighteen!

Speaking of that, thanks again for all the birthday wishes, and the cards! You said you sent some cookies and photos as well, but I haven't gotten them. They must have been confiscated or held up during a security check. No worries, though - the card alone was incredible and beautiful, and the poem Ella wrote for me was lovely. I can't believe she's nearly twelve!

Just think, though. Three more years and I'll be celebrating back out in the real world, maybe even with you guys! I can't wait! See you then, and thanks again, so much. Can't wait to hear back from you!

Love, Your Other Daughter.

P.S. I really do feel like your kid, so just... thank you. For real.


End file.
